"Yeah," I sigh as I rest my chin in my hand. "Richard isn't aware that I know, but one of his 'business associates' shot her about ten years ago. She went on vacation after it happened, and when she came back, she suddenly had dementia and loss of motor control. Took years is physical therapy to get her walking around safely, but she still can't hold a spoon or brush her hair.

"She has no memory of me most days," I admit dully. "When I was caring for her myself, it crushed me every time she couldn't remember. I barely ate, couldn't sleep... Richard finally stepped in and put her in a care facility. And that's when I started using..."

"Yeah," I sigh as I swirl my tea for a moment before taking a sip. "Some days I'm not convinced it was the right thing, but then I visit her and I see how well she's cared for... and I think about how embarrassed she would have been having one of her sons have to take care of all of her dressing and bathing needs...

"She was a very proud and regal woman," I admit fondly. "But not in that unappealing arrogant way, you know? More... every person has dignity and deserves respect kind of regal.

"I don't know, I'm rambling. I just know she's happier where she is, but it's still hard."

"She's been coming and going," I respond vaguely. "I think she felt bad after last time even though I kept telling her it wasn't get fault. It had technically been forty-eight hours line John advised."

"Well, yeah, but it's not just music boxes, " I respond with a shrug. "It's anything that makes noise. Music boxes, Vox units like Ljuba's, toys for kids, toys for not kids, musical instruments, clocks, mechanical animals, just...whatever really. If I can hear its parts moving, I can make it."

"Thank you," I smile, flushing slightly. "It's not really as impressive as reading a living breathing persons symptoms and being able to put them right again. Tech had gears and springs and wires, but people? Damn..."

"It's an outdated practice, or so it feels." I shrug, "So much of the world is shifting to tech work or magic, I wouldn't be surprised if by the time I'm old and feeble, doctors are a profession of the past."

"It's not gratifying to take someone who's broken and fix them?" I ask a little sadly. "That was always my favorite part of the job. I imagine it's probably harder to improve, say, a broken arm or damaged skin or something like that... but it would be fun to try, I think?"

"No, I mean... That's great," I shrug, fetching some spoons before busying myself pulling the boiled bags from the water and cutting them open. "Fixing people is why I wanted to be a doctor... But that's not the sort of stuff we get too often. Lots of colds, hangovers, overdoses...

"To be honest, a lot of what we deal with is either brought on from old age - and in that case we can't do much other than make them comfortable and wait for them to die - or it's self-inflicted. Drug abuse, reckless behavior, suicide attempts. And in those cases, we can fix it, but there's no victory in it because nine times out of them, we're seeing the same patient with the same fucking broken arm three months later because they just don't give a shit."

I inhale sharply as I finish rambling, glancing up towards Marnin a bit apologetically. "Sorry, that really wasn't directed at your situation..."

"I sort of forgot about my situation for a moment, so it's alright," I shrug, a tiny frown tugging at the corner of my lips as I stare off blindly in her direction. "I can understand how that might be frustrating, though. I've sold many wonderful things only to have clients bring them back to me week in and week out claiming that it broke due to inferior craftsmanship when I know they were reckless with it because they handed a delicate piece of work to a fucking three year old while standing right there in front of me.

"But no, I am careless and reckless with my health and my safety," I admit reluctantly as I fidget with my teacup absently, my thumbs tracing along the rim. "Sometimes I forget I'm not invincible. Back when I used to do this sort of thing more often, I could go weeks without ever taking a hit because I was faster and sharper than the people I fought. But it's been so long... I hit the bag damn near every day, but my reflexes have gotten rusty. I've gotten sensitive to the adrenaline again, too. It used to fuel me, but this last time, it just made me shaky and angry and afraid."

"I'll never find a new hobby," I sigh as I rest my cheek against my knuckles, my elbow propped on the edge of the table. "I swore I would pull Richard's network apart before I was even of legal age. But for every pawn I knock over, three more sprout in their place. And in the ten years that I stopped, he's cemented his grip over this city beyond anything I ever thought he could accomplish.

"No," I sigh. "I'll be chipping away at the dragon's back until the day I die, or the day he rolls over in his sleep and crushes me."